


Freefall into Lavender

by hyacinth_lea



Category: VIXX
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Reaper, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Eventual Romance, Fantasy, It's a reaper au so yeah death themes will be present, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Slow Build, Slow Burn, eventually, ish?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27078379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyacinth_lea/pseuds/hyacinth_lea
Summary: There is an unavoidable sense of Deja Vu that always lingers in the air, it comes to Hakyeon time and time again when faced with the nature of life he is used to experiencing first hand. He stands in the divisory line of life and death, where the intricacies of every detail that each side has always display in front of him.And yet, all is blank to Hakyeon, no concrete information other than a job issued to him by some higher power he doesn't know the origins of, but with far too many emotions coursing through him. And at times he wonders whether he would change this odd certainty for what life offers even if it's in futility--a haze of thoughts plaguing him on the daily. Life and death is of stars that light up and fall, and Hakyeon's life changes due to one coming right into his grasp.
Relationships: Cha Hakyeon | N/Lee Hongbin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Freefall into Lavender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, this is a fic I have been planning for years by now, two almost. just that life gets on the way. I hope it's enjoyable. I put an approximate amount of chapters but, it may grow bigger, just so you know.
> 
> Also, since this is a reaper au, there will be obviously stuff that deals with themes like death and all. Just a warning, I am not going for gore stuff or too heavy things but yea. Reaper fic, death is part of it. I'll try make it aesthetic.
> 
> You can read now! [not fully beta'd dying like men now, also, it's 3am spare me]

There is an unavoidable sense of Deja Vu that always lingers in the air, a dissonance in an otherwise steady cadence that has been repeating itself endlessly without any indication of ever stopping. It's unfathomable to even ponder on a halt to that cycle, when its nature resides in the perpetual state it's made of--in that clashing yet strangely fulfilling state frozen in between the divisory line of life and death. 

It's interminable, in the same manner darkness acts as a veil to welcome the hours of the night and then leaves come morning, lifting its cover little by little to allow for light to start falling over the pavement to welcome a fresh breeze of liveliness. Time and time again, it always spirals back to that very moment--and Hakyeon knows this as nothing but a fact as of now. 

Contradictory, yet logical altogether--how such opposite ends can come together in an ephemeral moment yet their presence is constant. To him and everyone because  _ that's _ the nature of life, of beginnings and ends that are as fleeting as the morning mist mingling so perfectly under a cerulean sky that hasn't yet reached its full brightness. 

It's a sight he knows by heart after too many years, decades-- _ perhaps a century or two _ . It's never-changing to the point the view seems to be one that has been left imprinted in his irises, only hammering the fact of eternity far more prominently into him. His system already far too accustomed to such concept, yet never failing to make thoughts crawl through him, of the entrapped state of his being, of the weight of witnessing how transient existence can be albeit it being written this way in an otherwise ceaseless thing like life is.

Those musings always accompany him, as if they were an assigned partner to remind him of the reality of his own presence in the middle of both planes. Hakyeon sighs, unable to keep them at bay once more--as if his mind detected something amiss in his behaviour and needed to aid him in his monitoring by making him contemplate the intricacies of existing every single time at daybreak as he sits atop his usual spot at one of his favourite skyscrapers in the whole city.

He would deem this place as nothing but the definition of tranquility, an oasis of peace that gives a sense of certainty in the middle of a metropolis ready to have its streets filled with an endless amount of citizens on the daily--with unforeseen fates threading themselves to each individuals' shadows, an unknown end of the journey in awaiting. 

It gives an overview of his currently assigned city, familiar and not enough like others he has guarded over the years. Expanses of lavender and tinges of azure hover above him while mingling with the clouds, the early morning fog surrounds every single colossal structure that reaches the sky and breaks through it while the smaller buildings seem to be buried underneath it. It's the ethereal nature of the season, and how the sky just darkens the more the year passes and leaves the actual brightness from the now past summer season behind. Hakyeon has seen this cycle ceaselessly by now, yet he never seems to stop being in awe when fall starts to settle--the mist only adding to that sensation that he is just only a step closer to eternity than many others. 

There is no sense of coldness that can be perceived by him, in fact, it's been quite a long time since he has long forgotten how it feels to actually sense changes like these--it doesn't rob anything from the experience though. And he fleetingly wonders whether he used to do this at some point, waiting for the point when morning is welcomed and its light washes away the haziness fully. 

He sighs, light puffs of air would have fallen from his lips if he was like any other being strolling down the streets with a carefree nature while manifesting their corporeal existence--yet they don't, and Hakyeon sort of misses the visual aspect of it, the odd liveliness a minimal action like that one holds. The warmth it can bring as it goes to mingle with the cool air--or how it becomes more discernible when faced with the light of lamp posts that still haven't found rest after a long guarding night. Or when someone breathes against one of the windows from any of the buildings or businesses scattered all over the concrete maze before him. 

All signs of life, small details that people don't learn to appreciate when they are able to. 

There is a light shake of his head, the unavoidable bitterness at every single soul not being able to take notice of the minuscule aspects that make life an unforgettable experience settles in him from time to time. Especially when he is aware of its every movement, of the way it comes and goes, bringing new dreams and letting old ones to maybe come to an abrupt unknown halt that only beings like him are aware of. It's bittersweet, yet it also can be infuriating--how humans are owners of all of this they don't take notice of while his mere existence is blank, like a snowy winter day. One void of life. 

_ Life _ , Hakyeon muses, it's like a bad joke when a concept like that involves the notion of rest. One that even humans so graciously receive--and he doesn't resent them, but at times the thoughts can't be kept under control. Especially when life and death itself end up being scribbled in the nearest thing to a tangible object for him. One of the two material items he holds with him--a journal,  _ the special one _ . The one  _ from  _ and  _ for  _ his job. One that unravels reasoning before him, acceptance, a showcase that all that can await a soul is already known on the other plane that some humans see as unreachable--their pride blinding them, preventing some from even acknowledging everything has an end. 

He sees flashes of red and yellow dash before him, dimly--vanishing just as fast as they appear and his head tilts in bemusement.  _ They do like to play with death, _ Hakyeon thinks, eyes now focusing on the journal in his grasp. He could say that some see life as a gamble, a russian roulette where all the bets were placed on a number of choice and it's just expected for luck to be so benevolent--for it to not make its good hand come to an end. And some are lucky playing with the odds like that in every minute of their existence, yet others don't hold the same fortune. 

His fingers caress today's page, with fate unveiling itself before his eyes to show him that it has already been written and while it cannot be changed--at least he is there to make it more bearable. Especially when he personally believes that time could have been more gracious. 

Hakyeon's legs dangle over the edge of the skyscraper, taking in the brief serenity--at least having the certainty that his day will meet its end in the same way, albeit the emptiness. But he wonders if he would trade it for the unpredictability it holds to not know whether one's star will still be lit up by the time night falls--Hakyeon doesn't really hold the answer, not like the ones he has in his notebook which he places inside one of the pockets of his long black overcoat. 

When his eyelids fall shut in moments like these, it's always akin to a meteor shower--lights rapidly falling, dazzling in the darkness. It's beauty, until it transforms itself into a supernova, an explosion. Death. 

It's almost in unison with the images he sees and it disrupts the air like a gunshot cutting through it to terminate an assigned target, transforming his mind's theater in a convoluted haze--the epitome of chaos that has him opening his eyes hastily. That familiar and only type of cold current he is able to feel rushes through him, and even if it's expected--it still makes shivers course through his body, because it takes a few seconds before all tranquility is broken. Before the silence is intercepted with a loud screeching of tires, before metal collides time after time against the pavement and all Hakyeon can hear is the sound of glass shattering. Loud, in evident turmoil. A chaotic melody of demise.

His lips curve into somewhat of a smile, one which paints itself with resignation all over and an inescapable sense of defeat--Hakyeon however knows that it’s been written, and what has been decided can’t be changed. All is fickle after all--but  _ this _ . 

A turbulent hit against the road, perhaps two more, and time seems to flow slower--it never fails to do so as Hakyeon’s hands meet the edges of the rooftop, kicking one leg against the structure and allowing for his body to freefall into the mist as he lets go of the reliability of his skyscraper. 

It’s an action that reeks of naturality to him, as if it had been installed into his being to allow for gravity to be his ally and travel with him in utmost speed--with invisible wings of liberty, with a rush of something he can’t quite pinpoint but that fills him with a sense of completion in between the usual voidness he at times faces. It makes it all go blank, yet it feels too right when it all seems to rush before his eyes akin to the so-called flashes that disclose themselves in those seconds before one faces death. And in a brief second where he is the only one that can see his own reflection in the glass covering the skyscraper, he swears perhaps he is similar to a shooting star breaking through the atmosphere. 

It’s almost instinctively by now, the way grace seems to accompany him when his body swirls in the air, arms opening to allow for lilac to sparkle and manifest--glimmering through the haze, solidifying in particles that shine around him in a spiral motion. The flickers of light soon turn into small petals that surround him, protect him, circle him as he opens his eyes before his journey comes to an end and the pavement seems far too close. 

A somersault creates a circle on the ground to welcome him, boots touching the surface upon landing, one of his knees is on the road--kneeling on the concrete after going through the haze. It makes the petals swirling around him to evolve into something far more beautiful--magnificent even when one of his hands touches the ground and the sparkles that surround him turn into a field of lavender underneath him, a field that raises all over like spears ready to protect him. And his shield breaks into a burst of purple petals that add a tinge of colour to the city, lilac lights shining in the early morning.

They levitate around him as if they had become stardust, as if the universe had suddenly decided to surround him--following his every movement as he rises to his feet and dusts off his coat while allowing for his sight to focus. To search for his objective. 

The mist nearly touches the surface and attempts to hide truths behind its haziness, trying in vain to cover with grays and azure gradients the inevitable scarlet awaiting, that vividness tainting the cement. Hakyeon can perceive it, that odd familiarity that being acquainted to situations like these has already installed in his being. An overbearing smell of fuel mingling with almost imperceptible traces of blood lingers closely, it reminds Hakyeon that it isn’t certainly the first time--and certainly won’t be the last in a city where its fast-paced nature leaves nothing but turbulence in its wake. 

And somehow, Hakyeon can inflict some serenity in that sort of cruel daze.

It’s almost in a perfect pattern, the way that his steps take him forward little by little. Boots resonating against the pavement, each step leaving behind a trail of lavender flowers scattered on the ground for them to fill the air with their enchanting perfume. Flowers are what he was given initially, and they are the only factor of certainty in his existence--beauty to accompany him and aid him, to foreshadow the inescapable outcomes.

It’s always the same timing, the same mannerisms. His eyes closing, recording all in his memory. A snap of his fingers the closer he approaches, it makes him sense the usual change to his reign of lavender--it’s white flowers mingling with his own now and his eyes widen at the kind they are, briefly wishing they weren’t so. Hakyeon can’t help the frown that shows in his face, but there is nothing he could have done to change this circumstance--that’s a sort of power he is not the owner of. 

“September 23rd, 6.15 AM,” Hakyeon begins, as the haziness disperses and gives permission for the view to stop being indistinct and turn into something discernable. It’s a silver car, lights blinking, windows shattered--wrecked in its entirety, fully set ablaze while crimson has pooled nearby. And there is a man outside, lying on the asphalt--or rather, a spirit, for he glows but with a certain dim light that indicates his time to leave is close, “Cause of death, an unfair turn taken by the wheel of fortune” 

_ ‘Or an imbecile getting in this man’s way and making it out alive’, _ Hakyeon recognizes that this is exactly what had happened, yet his words had rarely taken such tone. He doesn’t feel like words of that kind ever left his lips so casually, but the wave of anger can’t be stopped from washing over him.

Hakyeon crouches, his hand falling over the man’s eyes and lingering briefly in a light caress. He knows it’s the usual procedure, and even though he knows already the choice that has to be made by the end--it is a vital part of it, an unskippable action that always takes a toll on him but that is part of his job. He sighs, taking one of the white flowers that had manifested itself in his grasp, bringing it close against his lips and it’s almost like a whisper, as if it were words of confidential nature told to it when he commands it softly to listen to his words, “Disclose” 

A display of utmost obedience comes from such delicate being and its peers, the white flowers that had intruded Hakyeon’s purple field fade momentarily to then go back to their rightful owner--becoming vines and entangling themselves around the man’s chest while responding to Hakyeon’s command in haste, to a sole request that can be granted so easily to him yet has him wondering if it was ever asked of his soul. 

It's akin to spring wanting to manifest in the most hurried way over a lifeless soil, its presence crashing chaotically to form itself into an anomaly so unfit of the season yet breathtaking nonetheless--of pure flowers blooming, a full bloom that chooses to take place in the heart area and grows rapidly into a little glimmering garden. A small explosion of petals follows, one that Hakyeon has witnessed time and time again, one that so readily at his request spills secrets and records of life. 

A transitory cinema is what he would call it, a screening that hazily gleams while displaying what Hakyeon has come to know as ‘ _ the life archive _ ’. Access right at his fingertips and at the mere whisper of it, a method for him to know what's the ultimate end in the journey of each individual. Aesthetically pleasing, mentally taxing in reality when shots of different passages of life show before him--it's a life that is not known to him, a kind he is unsure he could ever relate to but the traces of happiness he can see in some of those views make his heart ache. It's not his fault, it's just his job but there is an inexplicable pain that lurks when he sees images depicting an emotion that feels as if it was buried within him.

That of a life which had the luck to be blessed with the opportunity to come across love, something that could be deemed so mundane by someone like himself but that leaves bitterness and ache whenever he ends up being an spectator of something that should feel foreign--yet Hakyeon seems to know the feeling of it better than anyone else. An inescapable longing that crawls through him, aiming to suffocate him for there is no plausible way for Hakyeon to hold such emotion--yet the yearning is  _ too  _ real. So undeniably real that it makes him force himself out of the daze, swiftly grabbing one of the floating petals in haste to make the images glitch and vanish, the white flowers dispersing at his actions.

One of his knees touches the ground, the touch of his hand softly attempts to provide some sort of comfort akin to a caress that wishes to call for sweet dreams--to soothe the turmoil, calm the turbulence, call for eternal sleep. It’s an untarnished action of purity, at least something he can provide momentarily--the support while heading towards the final destination, part of what he’s been tasked to do by some higher power he is not even certain the origins of.

And it’s also part of his duty, to face the look of absolute confusion painting itself always in the same manner regardless of who he is accompanying--it’s a set of expressions he is acquainted with, the gasps, at times jolting and fear. Yet the way the man before him reacts is also a recurrent one, blinking in bemusement, an inevitable loss of words at seeing an unfamiliar visage. An unavoidable question that always surfaces, “Who are you?”

And Hakyeon wishes he had the precise answer to that, because at times, such a small inquiry manages to plague his system for hours to come. Time and time again, endlessly resonating through him in search of something that could actually define the reality of his being, or the contents that used to fill his own story before all he knew were blank pages. 

Hakyeon only tilts his head, a little smile playing on his lips, eye contact unbreakable, “Company to the other side,” the disorientation displayed is but expected but before too much is said, Hakyeon offers his hand to the man, smile unfading, “The road ahead will seem long, but we have all the time in the world now”

It’s habitual for there to be some reluctance, but he is used to waiting until calm seems to have settled and the bewilderment vanished even if in some small percentage. He is also accustomed to the displays of anger, the denial when the weight of the situation has finally dawned--but today, there seems to be acceptance, a total understanding of what has happened, “Is it bad?”

Hakyeon isn’t quite sure how to respond, the concept of rest is something he has no knowledge of--yet he nods in order to provide certainty, “Your path is white, you don’t have to fear” and he fights for his reassuring smile not to fade, if only the white of the flowers had simply been indication of a good omen.

It shouldn’t feel like anything, but there is still some pressure when his hand is taken, when he can’t avoid the wave of guilt that courses inside him--and he knows the fault doesn’t reside in him, it was simply written as such yet looking into the eyes of someone who leaves more than life behind him is too much for Hakyeon to handle at times.

He rises to his feet, helping the man up as he does, “Don’t look behind, let’s just have you take the good memories.” 

Hakyeon wishes it was solely because of that, for it to be  _ that _ simple so that nothing negative is taken to the other side--and it has a bit of that behind his reasoning. But it is more so because he can hear the sirens approaching ever louder--police, firefighters, an ambulance? He really can’t tell the difference between them right now, he only knows they are coming to the place of the accident and it’s for the best if the soul he is accompanying doesn’t witness the chaos that his crashed car has left, or the fact that there probably won’t be much of himself to recover.

When he prompts his assigned soul to walk, his own flowers mingle with the man’s behind them, a garden left by their footsteps oozing tranquility for him to be able to go on this journey safely, with at least a final sense of peace. Even if the veil of mist seems about to be broken by the lights from the upcoming police cars, dazzles of red that Hakyeon can see reflected in windows from nearby buildings.

Their steps take distance from the reality of the moment, and from afar it can be heard, a repetition of what Hakyeon had already mentioned the moment he initially approached,  _ ‘Time of death, 6.15 AM’ _ and the steps halt momentarily.

“We shall go, your day has only started” Hakyeon mentions, trying for the focus to remain on him so that there are no attempts at looking behind.

A laugh with nothing but emptiness can be heard nearby, it’s short lived, with no amusement of any kind in its sound, “You mean it has ended.”

And Hakyeon’s own laugh seems a total contrast to the man’s, soothing, sweet even if there are a myriad of emotions hidden behind it. There is no sarcasm however, when Hakyeon chooses to let out something that may bring calm to some but that it is the reality of the truth he has faced for years, “Eternity doesn’t have an end, you know?”

It robs every single one of the words that could have fallen from the man’s lips before they surface, nothing but a fact that this time has been acknowledged without too much of a fight. After all, there is not much that can be said for it to be denied, Hakyeon knows better than anyone that whether someone is granted eternal rest or has to aid in the journey to such concept--eternity still is without end. This is engraved in Hakyeon far too clearly, alongside many other facts he has come to know with the years. How there are other inevitable feelings that can last a lifetime, even if death could be seen as the end to many things. 

It filters through his ears, slowly attempting to shatter his composure--it isn't quite a shout, but it pierces right through him, a cry of pain that differs from that of the physical kind. That of heartbreak, the kind that shows that your world is crumbling down--he knows it too, it feels familiar perhaps due to having seen scenes like these before. Hakyeon glances behind momentarily, his sight falling at a corner not so far from the place where the burning car is. Where the police are saying there are no survivors. 

It's not so indistinct, he can tell even from his place that the cry came from a young woman--one that is on her knees, arms wrapped around her middle, despair overcoming as a police officer holds her. And Hakyeon sighs, the guilt causing ache by now.

He still does the task at hand though, urging for their pace to not be interrupted by any trace of hesitance--but at times Hakyeon is the one that is reluctant, especially with people who do leave something,  _ someone _ behind. 

There are many things that can be without end, but as he accompanies the man he can't avoid making some small conversation, stating a fact that he has been hammered in his mind.

"Do you know what else is endless?" Hakyeon asks, casually, far too much that it takes the man by surprise to the point he lets out a confused  _ 'no' _ in response. And Hakyeon just glances behind briefly, his reply something he believes to be the truth, " Grief"

It becomes blurred, an answer which stands in the indistinct line between the ones who don't believe so, and himself who can testify it for what he has seen. A belief, maybe to convince himself that contradictions and logic can exist together, that the concepts of transient and eternal can walk hand in hand--and even so, Hakyeon thinks a human thing such as grief can even be cherished. Grand things that make mortals who they are, even if for some the feelings are as transitory as the early morning mist he walks into.

/////

There is a veil that hurries to lift itself as if awaiting Hakyeon’s return, lilac and azure being urged by the unending flow of time to make way for the beginning of another day to present itself slowly and fully. It disperses the hues he loves and little by little allows for that hazy tone of early morning to only linger for some more. 

Hakyeon's hands remain in the pockets of his coat, his stride could be deemed casual, steady--or so he wants to believe when he takes random glances at his reflection only visible to himself, to somehow remind him he exists, that in some way in this world there was a way for the person named Cha Hakyeon to actually have existed. It’s the only fact that succeeds in reminding him that there was something written in his own life before all was void.

His steps retrace themselves in direction to the place of the accident, and it’s not like he is longing to torture himself with the pain that was left behind there, or to even see if there’s something present left of it. Or perhaps, he is just trying to make sure the girl, whose broken cry pierced through him, isn’t planning to become another page in his job journal. 

It could show up at any moment, like an emergency call. He is no stranger to have souls that put an end to their lives by their own hand assigned to him, he is not blind to the many reasons that could trigger it--and yet, life still slips, when all seems hopeless, it still slips. And it’s a stain in the pavement, a page on his journal--the end of a journey for some, a trip to despair to the ones left behind, An endless chain he hasn’t seen the end of.

He takes the notebook out, quickly glances if nothing out of the ordinary has shown up, and it’s filled with nothing abnormal. All cases that follow in some days are but things he already knew from before. Yet it won’t hurt him to check, after what he witnessed on the life archive today, it won’t hurt to check if anguish doesn’t turn out to be the victor this time. Terminating life like this, especially with a bond as such surely can only mean that it was an unfathomable pain. 

Hakyeon shakes his head, forcing himself out of the thoughts that threaten him, out of the thoughts that he will most likely put down on his second notebook, the one that has only be seen by him, the one that carries sorrows inked in its page, where the emotion that he shouldn’t know has been continuously mentioned. Where, even if his mind can’t remember, his hand does. And because of that, he lets his pace turn hastier. 

Even if he cannot do anything when someone’s heart longs to be with the one they love. Even if the irreversible outcome is a possibility, his mind still rushes him to make sure that hopelessness didn’t have the last say.

But there’s nothing from that, nothing that could even resemble now the anguish that was too present moments ago. Emptiness has replaced the turmoil, and it leaves Hakyeon bemused for a second. The ephemeral nature of it all once again baffling him. It’s the usual, he already knows, and it’s contradictory to the nature of death--but the fast-paced method in ridding of the oddities is so clashing for Hakyeon to understand. 

As if there was no grandness in existing, only a couple of stains that are being removed by workers. To make sure that no one’s path crosses with one that ended so harrowingly and it ending as nothing but another piece of news to be printed the next morning, an article on the internet, or perhaps some news at the night report. And that’s about that, life can be made seem to be far more transient after all.

The sound of his boots no longer resonates in his ears, the car honks and chatter now muffle any sound that comes from himself--even if they are sound that can only be discernible to him, even if those sounds are ones that give reassurance. And even if his voice can’t be heard by no one now, his steps still take him to the middle of the road, gaze fixed as the cleaning work is done, “Time of death,” Hakyeon begins, “6.30 in the morning, cause… a fatal crash.”

The fuel can no longer be felt, yet he knows that if his eyes were to close now, only blazes would be seen. An empty laugh falls from his lips, he surely hopes it doesn’t add to his recharge time, that it won’t be more visual content for himself when he already has too much to deal with once this weird notion of  _ ‘rest’  _ comes to him.

A kind of rest which mimics the ones mortals have to replenish, but one that brings something that he knows the name of, but which he doesn’t want to call for its rightful name. Trauma. It always fills him with a little current of dread, knowing that the rest he should have will welcome him with images he can’t recall but make most of what he thinks was erased. And he thinks it’s perhaps due to all that he has seen all these years, due to being able to relate also.

The pain is something he feels he is empathetic about, and if rest can be given by his hand, wouldn’t it be gracious to also gift someone a last moment with their beloved? His mind goes back to the young woman, and his feet freeze on the spot, recalling her expression, her screams, the tears tarnishing her visage--the pain that will now be imprinted in her heart for years to come. And Hakyeon’s hands shake slightly, his breathing is intercepted. And it repeats, time and time again--the agony, as if her heart had been set ablaze alongside that car, eyes bloodshot, tremors abound. The yell--Hakyeon’s hands slowly rise to his ears and he covers them. As if it would make it all stop.

And then it reaches his nose, the smell that replaced his lavender: daisies, overwhelming ones. Different from ones that would come as a manifestation from someone’s soul. Hakyeon’s lips quiver, _ why did it have to be those? Why can’t they be spared? Is there even a possibility to be spared? _

Thought after thought, it dashes,  _ what is it to be spared? _ Non-existent, futile to think about, and it still overcomes him with those emotions he shouldn’t be holder of.  _ There is no way benevolence exists. _ Something amiss peaks. Hakyeon despises these sensations. He despises them so much. It’s not real, but  _ what  _ is?

His eyes widen, and this is what is real, standing in the middle of the road, lights still red, cars in waiting--people not noticing his presence, this is what’s real. And not those thoughts, never them.  _ Spared _ , and so he is right now, if he was a living being then he knows he wouldn’t be once red becomes green.  _ Spared _ , and eternity should be a gift. And why does he think he is not when he is and people like the ones who guided are the real ones who are not spared by death?

“Don’t stand in the middle of the road,” a voice reaches him, soft, nearly inaudible, with tranquility filling every vowel. And if he was alive perhaps, this may have been a moment in which death could have been avoided. If it wasn’t also death personified talking to him also, “The traffic is going to be insane right now, a car could get you.”

Hakyeon turns his head in the direction to where the voice came from, swiftly, without an ounce of hesitance he manages to recompose himself as if he had woken up once again, “How  _ funny  _ of you, Taekwoon, being a comedian  _ just  _ suits you.”

He is not given much time to retort to the obvious showcase of irony that was thrown his way before his wrist is grasped, back faced to him, a dark silvery hue coming from the person dragging him--long brocade prussian overcoat in his view, a tinge of a different colour that he has become accustomed to seeing every day since he has any sort of recollection of waking up. Taekwoon, the only company he has had for centuries, someone who knows him apparently more than he believes--but someone who has his barriers up most of the time. Perfection suitable for this job, a prime example of a reaper in the air of mystery and the possession of so much knowledge, in the grandiose of his presence. 

Yet, once job is done, Taekwoon holds a bit of a calmer vibe to him--one that Hakyeon sees as normal and expected behaviour, the oddity in the fully strict way of acting Taekwoon showcases, “Daydreaming while working?” Hakyeon is told, but it’s not reprimanding, more like curiousity taking hold of the other man. 

He shakes his head in response, both their boots now on the sidewalk, away from the road where Hakyeon had been standing, “I’m not,” he replies. Taekwoon turns to him, the usual sharpness in his eyes not fully there, but a questioning gaze is present, and Hakyeon tries to appease that eagerness that displays in Taekwoon’s irises, “I’m… thinking, that’s all”

Taekwoon raises an eyebrow, his gaze changes directions and fixes on the road. And Hakyeon wants to explain, but there is no way that Taekwoon isn’t aware with just a quick glance, he does have a higher rank than Hakyeon. He is bound to be able to tell the happening and misfortunes of a city of this kind. There is a long sigh though, Hakyeon’s hand now free from the grasp, “We both know how it is.”

Hakyeon quickly intercepts his words, he doesn’t need to be told that much, “I know, Taekwoon, I am aware, it’s not the first time.”

“It was written, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

There was no need for something that clear to be mentioned to him once more, but after second thought, Hakyeon thinks perhaps Taekwoon is right in repeating things Hakyeon knows by heart. There’s never anything that can be done but the procedure that follows, there’s nothing else that Hakyeon holds power over. He doesn’t even get to choose where the souls should be accompanied to, which gates will be awaiting them once the journey reaches its end. 

Hakyeon glances to the side, that small part of the street is closed, some inquiries can be heard from random passersby, and all shall be back to normal soon enough. It will all turn in nothing but another number for the day, another star that perished in the sky, “I know.” Hakyeon whispers.

“Keep me company for a bit?” Taekwoon asks, a light touch on Hakyeon’s left shoulder to prompt him to walk, for nothing to bind him to this moment in time, to one akin to the usual repetition of circumstances he already knows how to deal with. Hakyeon just nods, tagging along with Taekwoon should serve as a distractor, “I’m waiting for my own case, it’s not time yet.”

They both leave that avenue behind, but some part of Hakyeon’s mind remains there albeit his best efforts to hear Taekwoon talking about a case that happened while Hakyeon was asleep, “Taekwoonnie,” Hakyeon interrupts the speech from his job partner, friend after some centuries of course, “You know about my case from today, don’t you?”

“I get the news flash easily. Perks of the job.”

“Did you know those weren’t soul flowers?” Hakyeon mentions as they walk, and Taekwoon’s stride halts. It makes Hakyeon turn around, eyebrow raised once again, and Hakyeon isn’t entirely sure if there is judgement cascading in that one action or if questions are hidden under that expression. So his only choice is to elaborate, as if it had been requested of him, “Those were soulbond flowers, Taekwoon.”

There is a tinge of anguish coating Hakyeon’s words, and Taekwoon shrugs, “Yes, was aware.”

Hakyeon’s mouth is agape, shock takes over. Of course Taekwoon knows, he always does, but it doesn’t make sense for him to always be so unfazed about such information. It hurts, in some way it really does, but Taekwoon seems fine to hear that, unbothered by those facts that make Hakyeon snap a bit, “I led someone,” Hakyeon states, “and I left someone else without their half.”

Hakyeon doesn’t know if it’s just the guilt that’s been lingering since the job from today took place, but he knows he never enjoys the occasions in which those flowers mingle with his garden--the soulbond flowers, the ones that are assigned to a particular type of bond that should be unbreakable. He loathes it when they do, and not because he hates the flowers--he hates that it means he is separating souls that are tied together, that a bond has just been broken. That he helped with the final moment of separation. That he led one of the halves on their journey to eternity, aided them in death.

It always shakes all his foundations, and Taekwoon soon takes notice, responding to Hakyeon’s annoyed tone with something that is a fact that makes Hakyeon turn silent for some seconds, “Death doesn’t spare lovers, Hakyeon,” Taekwoon affirms.

It’s nothing but the truth, irrefutable, unchangeable just like Taekwoon’s stern view on it, “You know it’s not the first time it will tear a bond apart, and definitely not the last one.”

Hakyeon’s gaze is fixed on the fellow reaper, a superior--he knows what he is saying. And yet Hakyeon wishes that not all was written just like that. That not everything was impossible to change, for second chances to come. It’s strange for him to get like this, but he retorts the strict words said to him, “Until united at least.”

“If they don’t move on, then maybe.”

There is nothing that can make Hakyeon understand where Taekwoon’s words come from, if it’s that easy to say that someone who shares a soulmate bond will simply just move on once death presents itself uninvited in someone’s life. Yet Hakyeon spends the majority of his time contemplating life and death, and moving on seems like a difficult concept for him to grasp, “You don’t believe in reunions?”

But the answer should be expected, after all, the ones who try to force the reunion by their own hand instead create a gap between both sides, one that can’t be crossed for they will lie at opposite sides forever. Taking your life after all doesn’t lead to the greatest side of the afterlife. And perhaps, that’s what shapes each word that forms Taekwoon’s response to his question, “I believe in separations, Hakyeon.” 

It feels nearly glacial, but it’s stated as nothing but a fact. Death does take one away from their loved ones, and the remaining people are left with that void. It’s far more harrowing for lovers, so Taekwoon is right in believing in the factual side of it. And Hakyeon wishes there was a way to debunk that, there must be something there, some glimmer of hope since mortals are granted rest, then they should be given hope. The chance at being together once more.

Hakyeon’s lips try for words to come, yet Taekwoon rushes his pace, quickly walking past him and leaving Hakyeon with silence and thoughts unable to be heard, words tangled in his throat like vines. He turns around, Taekwoon is casually walking away, waving as if he knew that Hakyeon’s eyes are on him, “Time’s up, as it always is.”

Taekwoon mingles well with the frame he is part of, elegant and casual, ethereal and if he were to manifest, so real--or unreal, for his looks are dazzling and he may have really have eyes set on him all the time with his poise. It takes Hakyeon’s ability to speak away, stunned by the way his friend is walking away-- as if his steps weren’t leaving traces of light on the ground, glimmers of electricity following him whenever the soles of his boots touch the cement, light buzzing sounds accompanying him. And it hits Hakyeon, as always, that Taekwoon is an enigma behind the facade of total discipline-Hakyeon has never known why he is different from him, why an element like lightning follows him while flowers surround Hakyeon surreally. 

“Stop overthinking so much.” Taekwoon mentions, putting a halt to his pace, turning around to face Hakyeon. And he takes this chance to go back into the subject.

“When you are stuck without knowing anything but the fact that you were chosen to do this rather than rest,” Hakyeon explains matter of factly, “It’s complicated not to overthink.” 

Hakyeon sees Taekwoon crossing his arms over his chest, sighing, he doesn’t know if it’s exasperation, or perhaps hopelessness--or if Hakyeon touched on a subject that Taekwoon doesn’t want to ponder about too much. Yet he still answers, with facts once more, “There are souls which aren’t meant to rest.”

“Are  _ you  _ calling me unworthy? You, my superior?”

A laugh leaves Taekwoon’s lips, rapidly moving his hand to say no with such a gesture, but when Hakyeon frowns in response--Taekwoon just shakes his head, clapping his hands together as if disbelief and amusement had combined in a single package, “You are so hilarious, Cha Hakyeon.”

Hakyeon isn’t sure whether to take this as an offense, but when Taekwoon speaks again, he can’t really find it an insult. Perhaps his view is actually extremely amusing, “Time can be over, it’s always meant to be, don’t feel bad Hakyeon.”

“How can I not when I’m helping with separations of this kind? When I can’t do much about this? When even if I know how tomorrow will be I won’t know for sure if doing this will break someone else?”

“If there is a separation or union, you will be the first to know anyway.” 

Hakyeon feels as if he had just crashed against a wall, dazed, so confused that he can’t even form a coherent string of thoughts to say much. After all, Taekwoon is correct, he has the power to know--and he will know the cause of death before it even happens. But he is always getting riled up about this--and at times he loses control. And some other times, it’s the reason why there is always something amiss that his mind tries to control--to remind him of where he stands in this circumstance.

“My time is up here however, and before they become wandering souls--I shall take my leave,” says Taekwoon, turning on his heels with grace, the sound of electricity ringing in Hakyeon’s ears though it shouldn’t be perceptible given the distance Taekwoon is imposing, “Perhaps it’s a separation or a union that I need to take care of.”

Mist seems to envelop him, it turns darker as Taekwoon’s figure vanishes the more he walks in, flashing white of lightning follows--a small storm coming right into the no longer azure atmosphere. Hakyeon just stares, waiting for it to disperse, just so that he can’t be heard when he manages to say under his breath, “As if you didn’t know.” 

There is a contradictory clash in his thoughts, there’s not too much information for Hakyeon to feel like he has a story written, but too many foreign emotions he shouldn’t know to be fully empty. But without knowing the context, it holds no importance. Just like his dreams, just like his ceaseless existence without that much uncertainty to it.

Yet these thoughts are just ephemeral, just like crossing paths with people who can’t see him as he walks away towards his skyscraper, just like the sirens that go around the concrete maze of a city. And it all shall go back to normal, it’s reassured to him, the moment the street recovers it’s full hectic nature and the day appears as if nothing had disrupted it--but that’s the definition of normalcy, for all to be transitory even in moments where death was present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you if you have read up until here, I'm unsure of the update schedule this will have but, hope it's not so bad. once again, thank you if you read this. I chose not to use archive warnings because of spoilers but I hope it's not a problem. 
> 
> See you soon! Do lemme know if you like in the comments ^^


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